


you belong to me, i believe

by dangerousgays



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bruises, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Gerard, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousgays/pseuds/dangerousgays
Summary: Frank means to keep his hands to himself, he really does, but once he sees the marred skin on Gerard's wrist he can't stop himself from touching. He drags his thumb across the mottled coloring.This time, though, Gerard's breathing stays cool and even. When Frank glances up, his movements faltering at the lack of a reaction, Gerard is looking back down at him, a hint of a smile playing at his lips."Look," Gerard murmurs, tugging up the bottom of his shirt with his other hand. "Look at everything you've left on me."Frank does. He can't not, with an invitation like that. Gerard's variegated skin draws him in and traps him like a vice."I think it's my turn," Gerard finally says, letting go of the hem of his shirt when Frank's taken it all in. "What do you think, Frankie?"





	you belong to me, i believe

**Author's Note:**

> yall love possessive gerard....... i love possessive gerard............ heres six thousand words of possessive gerard. 
> 
> (thank u to a random gc 4 motivating me by fueling my hatred 4 envision the magic....... bless up)
> 
> also warning 4 some minor blood @ the beginning!!

Injuring people is sort of Frank's entire M.O., and it always has been. The energy he perpetually has both on stage and off makes him feel like he was born to thrash around and smack into people and jump on them. 

Especially Gerard. 

The best part about thrashing around Gerard and smacking into Gerard and jumping on Gerard is the way Gerard reacts. He always throws his hands up in Frank's general direction like anything short of an actual fucking tornado could ward him off and squeaks, dropping whatever he's holding. 

Sometimes he even turns bright red if Frank holds on for too long, which Frank definitely does not ever use to his advantage just to watch Gerard blush. Ever. He's not a creep. 

And maybe it makes him more than a little fucked up, the way his gut twists when he sees he bruises he leaves on Gerard's skin, blooming like ink blots, but he can't find it in himself to care. It's not like he hurts Gerard on purpose, anyways. It's all fun and games. Frank never apologizes, and nobody ever makes him. 

Well, usually it's all fun and games— until somebody gets hurt. 

Gerard is generally a very flail-y person. He loves his fucking hand gestures, loves making them when he's talking and when he's singing and when he's drawing and when he's making coffee and just— just all the time, he likes to move his hands, but it's not at all like Frank watches his every move or anything. 

And Frank— Frank knows he's an asshole. Especially right after shows, when the adrenaline is still coursing through him and he has nothing to do but sit there and twitch, and they're, like, fucking famous or whatever now so he can't just go outside and punch a wall. They have to set an example, with so many kids looking up to them (example, he thinks with a jeer, whenever the label managers give him A Look after he Almost Kills Somebody. Fuck that.) 

The other guys and even the techies and roadies have learned by now to just steer clear of him, but sometimes, people just end up in the crossfire. It happens. 

Typically it's Ray, but Ray usually just stabs one inhumanly strong finger into the pressure point between Frank's neck and his shoulder. It makes Frank convulse, to the point where his grip is weaker than Gerard's attempts to quit caffeine, and he slides right off (like a greased pig, Mikey never fails to remark in a deadpan. It makes Frank uncomfortable). 

It's just never been Gerard, though, because somehow, he knows Frank better than Frank knows himself. Gerard's always handing Frank cough medicine the day before Frank gets sick, or ordering for him at Starbucks and getting it perfect, or knowing the right nights to run a hand through Frank's hair before he climbs up into his own bunk. 

But tonight, maybe Gerard's forgotten or maybe he thinks Frank is somewhere else, because he ambles into their shared hotel suite around eleven-thirty, completely unaware of what's about to befall him, where Frank's lying spread-eagle on the L-shaped couch. 

The two of them always share a room— Mikey refuses to go with Gerard, and Frank's scared Ray would smother him in his sleep. 

Besides, Ray and Mikey totally have a thing, and the whole ordeal is sort of funny, how oblivious they both are to it. It's laughable, Frank thinks, whenever he catches them making eyes at each other, how two people could want to fuck each other so bad and have no idea the other feels the same.

In short, it's a win-win for all of them. He just hopes Mikey and Ray will pull their heads out of their asses soon, because the tension in the bus is unbearable sometimes, like it's between more than just the two of them. Whatever. 

Then Frank gets a better look from his prone position. 

Gerard's in his fucking girl pajamas, all fitted in the right places and flowy at he same time, and it makes Frank's blood absolutely boil. 

His left ring finger twitches. 

No, he tells it, sternly. Don't. 

It doesn't listen. The errant urge to jump on Gerard's back until he's beet red starts with a tickle in the small of Frank's back. It creeps up his spine and curls around it tight, like a snake on a caucus. 

His leg twitches. 

Gerard meanders a little closer, still blissfully unaware of Frank and his internal struggle about jumping his bones. Gerard's humming a song under his breath, all happy and content. 

Frank literally cannot help it. His body has never obeyed his brain before, and right now is no different. He barely has time to pray Gerard doesn't have a hot cup of coffee or some freshly sharpened pencils before he springs off of the couch and launches himself at Gerard. Not even Frank knows where he's going to land. 

Maybe Gerard's grown reflexes overnight, though, because usually he just flails— classic fucking Gerard— and half-assedly swats at Frank until Frank slides off of his back or uncurls from around his legs or lets go of his arms where he's pinned them behind Gerard's back. 

But this time, he lashes out before Frank even lands on him, and maybe he's also spontaneously grown muscles, because Frank catches a hand to the face and hears a snap that echoes around inside his skull like a TV screensaver right before he hits the ground hard. 

And then— oh, fuck, and then Frank starts to really feel it. Pain explodes behind his eyes, starting in his nose and burning outwards like a star gone supernova, radiating through his entire skull. His eyes slide closed, because holy shit, it fucking hurts— but he's not going to cry. Fucking Gerard, who hits like a pussy— well, usually, anyways— will not make him cry. 

"Fuck," he hears Gerard say frantically. "Frank, what the fuck, oh god, you're bleeding—"

Frank opens his eyes to see Gerard windmilling his arms around above him, flapping his hands. 

"Fuck," he groans, too, because it does seem like an appropriate word. He can't feel the blood dripping down his face, nor can he smell it even though it's clogging his nostrils, but he knows it's there because Gerard can't take his eyes off of Frank's face. And also he looks like maybe he's going to pass out. 

"Oh god," Gerard says again, kneeling next to Frank, but this time it seems like it's less for Frank's benefit and more for his own. "I am so sorry, Frankie, are you okay? Do you think it's broken? Oh my god, I totally broke your nose, shit, are you gonna have to go to the hospital, I—"

"Shut up," Frank interrupts, a little harsher than he'd meant to. Gerard does. "Dude, please just— shh." Frank isn't a mouth breather, contrary to what his stage antics would have anybody believe, and the room is starting to tilt— though from lack of oxygen or loss of blood he doesn't know. It certainly feels like he's losing liters through his nostrils. 

Gerard actually does stop talking for a second, worrying his bottom lip between his freaky little teeth, and Frank wants to bite it. "Dunno, Frank," he says. "Maybe— I mean, if it's broken, they're gonna have to..." he trails off. 

"'M fine, it's not broken," Frank insists, trying to push himself up with his arms. Gerard frowns and supports him under his armpits, and he shuffles backwards on his ass across the carpet to lean into the corner of the angle in the couch. "Really, I'm good. I smack you around all the time an' you never complain, so."

"Well, yeah," Gerard concedes, sliding his gaze away from Frank's. "But that's different."

Frank re-locks eyes with him and very unsexily wipes his face and under his nose with the bottom of his t-shirt. This time, Gerard's gaze resolutely does not stray from Frank's face, even though the blood on it must be getting to him, the way he looks even more vampiric than usual. 

Gerard's pajama top has started to slide down his shoulder, exposing his collarbone, and along with it, one of the bruises Frank gave him two days ago when he startled Gerard and ran him into the cabinets on the tour bus. 

It makes Frank's stomach twist, sweet and sour all at once. 

"Different," Frank says, tearing his eyes from the mark and meeting Gerard's eyes again instead, before his brain can get ahead of him. He blows his nose into his own t-shirt before letting it fall back down. "Different how?" 

"Just— it just is," Gerard says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. It seems like he regrets saying anything, the way he looks away from Frank and shrugs his shirt back onto his shoulder. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't make me say it, Frankie." 

Now Frank's really confused. 

Gerard is a confounding person, as a general rule, and usually Frank barely grasps what he's saying. But right now, he really doesn't know what's going on or what Gerard's trying to imply. 

Frank scrunches up his forehead. "Say... say what?" 

Gerard looks pained, which is funny considering Frank's the one with a sideways nose that's still bleeding all down his chin and onto his neck. 

Instead of answering, Gerard briefly pinches the bridge of his nose and goes back to chewing on his bottom lip. His cheeks are pink. 

"Never mind," Gerard says, after a few seconds of silence. "I'll get you some ice." He stands up (his knees crack loudly, but the tension in the room is too much for Frank to make a joke about it) and makes for the little kitchenette in the corner. 

Frank's still confused. His ass has fallen asleep, and he tries to move around on the carpet a little, but it makes his entire face throb. His brain is going a million miles an hour and he still can't puzzle out what Gerard's trying to say, but like hell Frank's gonna let him get away without explaining.

"I still don't get what you're saying," Frank says, when Gerard returns and flops onto his knees, pressing a bag of crushed ice lightly to Frank's face. "How's it different?"

Gerard's blush returns with a vengeance. "I just—" he starts, eyes roving Frank's face. "I mean, you know I don't exactly mind it, when you're jumping all over me." 

Frank literally has no idea what he means, and he fixes his gaze on Gerard's hand that isn't pressed to his face, fingers twitching absently where they're resting on Frank's upper thigh.

His wrist is mottled black and blue, too, from where Frank hit him with a drumstick a couple of times. Frank reaches out to press the pad of his thumb to it, gently, ignoring the throb of pain any sort of movement sends through him. 

Gerard's breath hitches as he lets out a hiss. 

The realization of what Gerard's been trying to say this whole time hits Frank like a punch to the gut. "You don't... oh."

Gerard's face is absolutely flaming when Frank looks up, his thumb absentmindedly running along Gerard's wrist. The blush spreading down his neck makes the scar Frank gave him by way of swinging a guitar (it was by accident!) during one of their first shows stand out, starkly contrasting. 

"That's why you do it, right?" Gerard asks, pulling the ice off of Frank's face, and Frank can immediately tell Gerard knows what he's been looking at, the bruises and the scars Frank's given him. 

Despite the redness still staining Gerard's cheeks, his voice is starting to drop, quieter and deeper, something Frank wants to listen to. 

"You love seeing the aftermath," Gerard says, in almost a whisper. 

Fuck, Frank thinks. Gerard really has his whole existence, everything about him, down to a science. 

Frank's entire body twitches.

Gerard drops the ice into the ground and trails one finger, wet and freezing cold, from Frank's earlobe all the way down his neck to his collarbone before drawing away and picking up the washcloth. Frank can feel his arms break out into goosebumps, just a finger against his skin making his whole being sing with want. 

The trail of water is cold on Frank's neck, pulsing alongside the pain in his nose with every thump of his heartbeat. 

"Chin up," Gerard orders, quietly. 

Frank obeys. 

He lifts his gaze to the ceiling, and Gerard gently swipes at his neck before tapping two fingers against his jawbone to let him know he can lower his head. Frank does, and Gerard gently wipes under his nose and his chin. 

Frank stays stock-still the entire time, resolutely staring at the shitty wallpaper or the gaudy light fixtures. He's not sure what Gerard is playing at, the way he lets his shirt ride up when he dabs at a higher place on Frank's face or lets the fabric slip from his shoulder, but Frank isn't exactly complaining about the view he gets when it does. 

All Frank can think about is how fucking awkward sharing a bed is going to be tonight, holy shit. 

The washcloth is stained pink and red, a kaleidoscope of blood, when Gerard is done, finally drops it and leans back to sit on his heels. 

"Does it feel any better?" he asks, soft and calm, like Frank's entire body isn't vibrating to jump, thrash, touch. 

"Yes," Frank forces out. "Yeah, it— it feels better." He pulls his legs into himself to sit up a little more, criss-cross applesauce. His voice sounds just as shaky as he feels, unsettled.

"Finally got to put my own mark on you," Gerard muses thoughtfully. "Just didn't think it would be by breaking your nose." 

He’s not embarrassed anymore.

He gets up, taking the ice and the washcloth with him, leaving Frank alone to deal with that absolute whirlwind of a statement. He flicks his tongue at his lip ring as his mind swirls. 

The only conclusion his body and brain can agree on is touch!!!!!, which Gerard might not appreciate, but, like... Frank really wants to, and if Gerard throws him out of the room and kicks him from the band, he can totally claim concussion immunity. 

Frank can't stop playing back every single glimpse of bruised, marked skin he's gotten tonight, and when Gerard comes back into his line of sight, seeing the contusions peeking out from underneath his shirt just casts Frank out even further into the deep end. 

Want hits him like an errant hand to the nose. 

He can tell Gerard knows, or at least that he's figured it out by now, how Frank feels. But honestly, if he considers Gerard's current Frank Intuition Score, Gerard probably knew way, way before Frank had even realized it himself. 

Gerard makes his way over and offers one hand to Frank. "How's the couch sound, Frankie?" he asks, tone even and blush gone soft pink. 

"Gee..." Frank starts, but he's the one embarrassed this time, now that he's identified the jumbled twist in his gut whenever he's around Gerard as the desire to let him fuck Frank into the floor. "Yeah. Yeah, couch is— sounds good."

His post-show adrenaline, it seems, has all drained out through his nose. 

But even though Frank means to keep his hands to himself, he really does, once he sees the marred skin on Gerard's wrist he can't stop himself from touching. He drags his thumb across the mottled coloring. 

This time, though, Gerard's breathing stays cool and even. When Frank glances up, his movements faltering at the lack of a reaction, Gerard is looking back down at him, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. 

"Look," Gerard murmurs, tugging up the bottom of his shirt with his other hand. "Look at everything you've left on me."

Frank does. He can't not, with an invitation like that. Gerard's variegated skin draws him in and traps him like a vice, and Gerard just stands and lets him bask in it. 

"I think it's my turn," Gerard finally says, letting go of the hem of his shirt when Frank's taken it all in and finally flicks his gaze back upwards. "What do you think, Frankie?" 

He's smiling softly, like he doesn't actually care what a creepy asshole Frank is, smacking him around on the daily just to watch him bruise. Like maybe he likes it. 

Frank nods, tugging at his lip ring with his teeth. He really doesn't know what Gerard having his turn entails, but he knows for a fact he won't mind whatever it is. 

"You're one possessive little motherfucker," Gerard leans down to breathe into his ear, gently pushing back until Frank's legs hit the long part of the couch and he sits down. "You're lucky I like it that way." Gerard straddles Frank, smooth and quick, and lays a hand on his chest to push him backwards until he's leaning against the cushions. “Lucky I am too.”

Gerard follows with his whole body until they're chest to chest, pressed tight and close, and Frank knows how his body weight must feel against Gerard's bruises, a dull ache. 

Gerard leans down again, barely dancing a whisper of a touch across Frank's hip with one hand. Frank can feel Gerard's hair against his face, and the closeness feels alien and new, but intimate and so right at the same time, like maybe it shouldn't have taken them such a long time to figure it out. 

It just feels like it's the way it should be, how Gerard fits perfectly against him, covering Frank's entire body in just the right way. 

It’s new, doing this, and nothing like they’ve ever done before, nothing like their antics onstage or for the interviewers or in front of the cameras. It makes Frank nervous, just a little bit, but Gerard doesn’t seem so at all— in fact, he seems more sure than Frank’s ever seen him, and it makes him glow from the inside out. 

Frank barely stops his hips from kicking up with the way Gerard's breath ghosts along his jawbone, heavy and promising.

"Right here," Gerard hums, pressing the tip of his finger delicately against a spot right underneath Frank's ear. "How's that sound?" His voice buzzes against Frank's skin, gentle for now but full of promise. 

It takes all Frank has to make himself nod again, instead of whining like he usually would and also really, really wants to. Gerard really brings out the (not-so-) inner bottom bitch in him, it seems. 

Gerard must get it, though, because he stops being an asshole fucking tease and instead presses his tongue to the spot, laving at it wet and hot before biting down gently. 

Frank's getting hard already. He's dumb and he's stupid and it's Gerard on top of him, sucking on his neck, and he's getting hard already. 

He gasps loud, way louder than he meant to, but Gerard doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause to make fun of him— just keeps going, biting lightly. 

This time he doesn't stop himself from rolling his hips upwards. He doesn't really mean to grind against Gerard, but once he feels Gerard's heat against him he can't not, does it once, twice more. 

Gerard just keeps humming against Frank's neck, pulling the skin tight against the back of his teeth before letting go and licking at it again, soothing away the dull throb his ministrations leave. 

It seems like he's either oblivious or doesn't care about Frank's cock pressing up against his own, which pisses Frank off a little because yeah, he has a neck, but he also has a dick, thank you very much. 

Finally, Gerard pulls away, with one last soft flick of his tongue against what Frank can feel is going to be an absolutely monster bruise. They’re both breathing hard, and Frank would love nothing more than to pant into Gerard’s mouth rather than right next to it. 

"Good?" Gerard asks quietly, like Frank could actually answer a question with coherent words right now, like he could say no. Gerard's fingers keep flitting around Frank's hip through his shirt, dancing across the bone, barely touching. 

Frank takes a deep breath, and his whole body shudders with it. The pain in his nose throbs along with his heartbeat, quickened from the way Gerard's just looking at him, like he could watch Frank do menial shit for hours and never get tired of it. 

"Wish you could see this, Frankie," Gerard says, tracing a finger across the spot under Frank's ear, pressing down lightly. "Looks so good, you're so fucking pretty." 

It's tender already, and now Frank knows why Gerard kept letting him do this to him, why Gerard kept letting him mark him up. Gerard knew what he wanted, why he wanted it, long, long before Frank did. 

He's been biding his time, waiting for Frank to figure it out on his own, figure out why seeing the bruises he leaves makes on Gerard makes him feel sweet-hot-bright all the way down to his toes. 

Frank's drawn out of his thoughts when Gerard cups his jaw with one hand and strokes his thumb across Frank's cheekbone, starting to grind their hips together slowly through thin fabric. 

“Can I take this off?” Gerard asks, wrapping his fingers lightly around the hem of Frank’s shirt, carefully avoiding the areas soaked with blood. He meets Frank’s eyes, and he looks so hopeful and open and it’s like nothing Frank’s ever experienced before, Gerard baring his soul to him. 

Frank couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. 

“Please,” he says, instead, not caring if he sounds needy or whiny or stupid. Gerard doesn’t need any more encouragement, just pulls it up and over Frank’s head carefully, tugging in just the right spots so it doesn’t catch on Frank’s lip ring, like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

Gerard smiles down at him once his shirt is off and tossed to the side, and he must see it in Frank’s eyes or read his mind like he always does, because he goes straight for the hem of his own shirt and tugs it over his head smoothly, in the fancy crossed-arms way that girls sometimes do. 

It’s stupidly hot. Gerard is stupidly hot. 

Frank never, ever gets to see Gerard shirtless. Nobody ever does. It feels religious, to have Gerard before him like this, not trying to cover up or hide himself. It feels holy. 

“See these?” he takes one of Frank’s hands in his and presses it to the planes of Gerard’s stomach, where a mottled bruise is turning from purple and blue to yellow and brown around the edges, and then brings it up to his chest, where a shallow scratch is healing, white and uneven across pale skin. 

Frank’s breath is starting to come harshly. He’s never gotten to see the effects of his actions like this, so boldly and openly displayed on Gerard’s body, like Gerard is his. 

Like Gerard is his. 

“Yeah, you see ‘em,” Gerard says, huffing out a little laugh. He smiles and lets go of Frank’s hand. “Y’get a little possessive of the things you think belong to you, hm?”

Frank looks up at him, mouth open. He literally cannot form a sentence, the words tangled up in his brain, a knot. He tries to push up into Gerard’s unhurried grinding, but he can’t, the way Gerard has him pinned against him, powerless and completely at his mercy. 

“But here’s a little secret.” Gerard comes in close and drops his voice to a whisper that dances across Frank’s lips, sweet and warm, hips still moving slowly. “You actually belong to me.” 

Frank feels like he’s died and gone right to heaven. 

Gerard’s touches are still light, but they’re getting firmer, his movements less hesitant, which Frank really fucking appreciates. A lot. They’re close, so close together, and Frank can’t take it anymore, can’t hold back, can’t stop himself from moving. 

He reaches up to cup Gerard’s chin and pulls him in, gently, until their lips meet. Frank slides his eyes closed, mouthing at Gerard’s slowly. There’s no hurry at all. There’s nowhere Frank would rather be, and he hopes Gerard feels the same. 

Gerard’s lips are chapped but soft, and it’s not perfect, the way Frank’s still-throbbing nose gets in between them throwing it off. It’s exactly what Frank wants, though— anything Gerard will give him. Anything. 

Gerard tastes good, exactly like Frank would have expected— like nicotine and nighttime air, warm and sharp, and he can’t get enough. 

But soon, with just the barest flicker of tongue against Frank’s lip ring, Gerard draws back. Frank’s eyes flutter open a second later, and god, Gerard looks like he wants to eat Frank alive, the hungry, wanting gaze he’s casting all over Frank’s body. 

“It’s still my turn,” Gerard says simply, and goes to pull down Frank’s pajama pants, pulling at the strings with nimble, practiced fingers. “Lay down, Frankie.” 

Frank does, throwing his neck back and gasping when Gerard finally, fucking finally, presses one warm, gentle hand to his dick through his underwear. 

Gerard reaches up with his other hand to grab Frank’s and brings it down, presses it to his own cock next to Gerard’s hand. “Feel that?” Gerard intones, and yeah, Frank sure fucking does. “Belongs to me,” Gerard says, fiercely. “Nobody else gets to see. Nobody else gets to touch. Mine.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Frank agrees, breathless. “I— god, fuck— yours.” 

“Mm.” Gerard shoves his hand into Frank’s boxers and starts to move it against the hard heat with a pleased little hum. Frank moans, loud, and Gerard meets his eyes again, looking for all the world like he knows how absolutely gone Frank is for him. 

Gerard wraps his fingers around Frank’s dick, making little rippling motions and smiling softly like he knew it would drive Frank insane (which he probably did, considering his psychic tendencies when it comes to All Things Frank). 

“Good?” Gerard asks, softly, and Frank can only answer with his eyes, pleading. He sure hopes Gerard gets ‘fuck me into the ground’ from just his gaze. 

Gerard squeezes a little tighter, moves a little faster, before leaning up to roughly ask in Frank’s ear, “Gonna let me mark you up while I get you off? Make sure everyone knows who you belong to?”

Like hell Frank would say no to that. 

He thinks about Gerard leaving marks all over him, bruises and hickeys and lovebites between his tatts like points of starlight scattered across his skin, claiming him. Hell yeah, he wants that. 

“Yeah— god, please,” Frank finally groans out, rutting up into Gerard’s hand, wrapped hot around him. “Anything, please, more—”

“Anything is a big word, baby,” Gerard murmurs, leaning down to drag his tongue across Frank’s stomach between the inked birds, drawn tight as he thrusts up into the circle of Gerard’s fingers. “Y’gonna live up to it?” 

Frank doesn’t answer, just lets out a breathless whine. He knows the answer, and if he knows, then Gerard knows. 

Gerard flashes him a little smile and presses the flat of his tongue against Frank’s lower stomach before sucking the skin between his teeth. 

It hurts, burns like a fallen ember, nothing like the sting of a needle, but then Gerard’s speeding up his hand around Frank’s cock, swiping his thumb across the crown and slicking him up with his own pre. Frank moans and throws his head back, panting, the pain and pleasure curling together across his skin like spiderwebs. 

Gerard licks at the area one last time and then drags his tongue up Frank’s neck, stopping sometimes to mouth at his chest. He reaches up to nudge his nose along Frank’s jawbone, breath fanning down Frank’s neck, teasing and way, way too slow for Frank’s liking. 

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Gerard hums against Frank’s collarbone, so deep and close Frank feels it in his bones. “Look at you, fucking my hand. So hot for it, so good.” He swirls his tongue into the dip of Frank’s neck and shoulder before nibbling lightly, leaving a line of bruises along the protruding bone. 

Frank does look. His hips are working without him even knowing, body moving of its own accord as it often does. It looks obscene, how Gerard is jacking him still, even as Frank fucks up into the grip of his hand. 

“Fuck,” Frank says, all he can force out, can’t look away from it. “Fuck, Gee—”

That makes Gerard moan for the first time, and it’s intoxicating— Frank could live happily never hearing anything else. 

“God, Frankie,” Gerard groans, brushing his fingers across Frank’s balls before starting to stroke his cock faster, tighter. “Say it, say my name again—” he cuts himself off to mouth and bite along Frank’s jawline none too gently, all his earlier hesitation dissolved. 

“Gonna come, Gee, fuck,” Frank gasps, chest almost heaving. “Gerard, please just—” but he doesn’t get to finish, because Gerard is shoving his tongue between his lips and into Frank’s mouth and kissing him, the polar opposite of their first. 

It’s wet and messy and hot, and Frank never wants it to end. He tilts his head so they don’t end up bashing his nose between them, seriously, screw Gerard for doing that and compromising their first fuck. 

But he forgets all about it when their tongues twine together, and Gerard pushes up against him, shoving with his hips. All the while he keeps fucking Frank’s mouth with his tongue, pressing his chest to Frank’s as he continues jacking him off between them. 

They only break apart when Gerard slides his other hand up Frank’s body to the back of his head and tugs hard on a handful of hair, pulling Frank’s head back to expose the long line of his neck, broken only by the dark ink settled beneath his skin. 

“Mine,” Gerard says, intensely. “All mine, baby, fuck, so fucking pretty—”

“All yours, yours,” Frank pants, fucking up into the circle of Gerard’s fingers faster. It isn’t just a want anymore, but an errant need, to come all over himself just from Gerard’s hand around his cock. “God, can I come, Gee, please—” 

“Yeah, fuck,” Gerard pants, licking a wet, hot stripe up Frank’s neck like he can’t help himself. “C’mon, come for me, baby, all over my hand—” and then he bites down hard, right on Frank’s pulse point, and it’s too much. 

White-hot-sharp pain rushes through him, arching from the pulse hammering in his nose to the stimulation on his dick like lightning, and he loses it, spilling all over Gerard’s hand and their bare chests with a gasp and a moan that Gerard immediately launches himself up to swallow. He mouths at Frank’s lips, his own mouth open and wet, before sliding across to tongue at Frank’s cheekbone, still tugging at his dick. 

Finally, Gerard slides his hand off, but he’s not done, Frank can tell. He’s got the same gleam in his eye he always does before he’s about to announce some dumb new idea to the band, uniforms or album concepts or hairstyles. 

He taps two come-covered fingers against Frank’s lips. 

Yeah, okay, Frank is totally down with that, he decides. 

Gerard barely waits until he’s opened his mouth before he pushes the digits in, against Frank’s tongue. 

“God, so good,” Gerard murmurs. “Such a good little boy, you’re all mine, baby.” 

Frank swirls his tongue around them, eyes sliding closed, Gerard’s words echoing around in his brain. He wraps his lips around what he can of Gerard’s fingers and sucks. He lets Gerard press them further into his mouth, gets them good and wet, sucks until they’re clean. If he focuses he swears he can almost taste wood, the graphite of the pencils Gerard always totes around. 

Gerard pulls them out a second later, sliding them across Frank’s lips and up his cheek, leaning a trail that makes Frank shiver when the air stirs with Gerard’s breath. 

When Frank opens his eyes after Gerard draws his fingers back out, Gee’s staring at him with an intensity in his eyes like Frank has never seen, like Gerard will never let him out of his sight again. 

“Come on me,” Frank blurts out, stupid after his orgasm and the fingers in his mouth, completely ruining the moment. 

Gerard blinks. 

“Please?” Frank tries, wiggling his hips where Gerard still has them pinned under his own. 

“I—” Gerard seems momentarily speechless, and Frank is sort of proud of it, because it’s a rare occurrence. “Yeah, okay, Frankie,” he concedes, though he doesn’t seem reluctant. “You’re kind of a whore, aren’t—”

A loud groan slips out of Frank’s mouth, and his face instantly heats up. Nobody knows about his penchant for being called nasty names besides the back-of-bar hookups who found out by accident, and he’d totally been planning on keeping it that way. Forever. 

But Gerard doesn’t look disgusted. “You like that, huh,” Gerard says, wonderingly, standing up and shoving down his girl pajama pants and boxers. “Hm, baby? You like being called a whore?” 

Frank whimpers quietly, but Gerard hears. Gerard knows, just like he always does. 

“My little slut,” Gerard says, affectionately, mouth falling open in a short gasp when he finally straddles Frank again and gets a hand on his own dick. 

Fuck, Frank thinks, and he can’t stop staring. Gerard is fucking hung. 

If his nose wasn’t (probably broken) hurting a little, he’d totally go for it, take Gerard down his throat and suck him off until Gerard came in his mouth and all over his face, but for now he’ll have to settle. 

Settling for watching Gerard’s face as he jerks himself off over Frank doesn’t really seem like settling, though. It’s fucking hot, the way Gerard is losing it on top of him, mouth wide open and pink and wet and perfect. 

He’s sure the two of them make quite the obscene picture, Frank still covered in his own come and about to be striped with Gerard’s. 

“Open your mouth,” Gerard orders, quietly. “C’mon, baby, be a good slut, my good little whore, open up.” 

Frank does. He stretches his lips wide and sticks his tongue out a little, because shit, he doesn’t just want to feel it, he wants to taste it, wants to take whatever Gerard will give him. 

Gerard moans, low and deep above him, and then the first ropes of come splatter across Frank’s face, hot and thick. 

He lays there and takes it, lets Gerard mark him up and come all over him, absolutely ruin him. 

It catches in his hair and in his mouth and drips down his chin, and Gerard must like whatever he sees, because when Frank looks up at him and meets his eyes they’re still blown, dark green and brown ringed with black. 

“Mine, Frankie,” Gerard insists, with a fierceness that lights a fire in Frank’s gut. He swings one leg off of Frank to tuck himself between Frank’s body and the arm of the couch, not giving a shit about their nakedness or the come everywhere. “All mine.” 

“Yeah,” Frank says tiredly, feeling absolutely bone-weary. “Yours now, Gee.” He closes his eyes, Gerard pressed up against him like a human furnace lulling him into a sense of peace. 

The hotel heat shuts off with a hiss. Whatever, Frank thinks. He doesn’t need it anyways. 

Gerard hums, nudging his chin into the crook of Frank’s neck and slinging one arm across Frank’s chest despite the mess. “Always were,” he says, sounding just oh-so-fucking-pleased with himself. “Just didn’t know yet.”

“You’re right,” Frank says, realizing the truth behind the words as they come out of Gerard’s mouth. “You’re— you’re right. Love you, Gee.”

Frank’s tired and fucked out and his nose hurts, and he doesn’t hear Gerard say it back if he does, but maybe some of Gee’s psychic powers have rubbed off, because he knows Gerard loves him back. He falls asleep a hell of a lot happier than he’s felt in a long time.

They’ll worry about the aftermath in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> if ur worried abt ur part twos to come hard, stay clean nd watch u in ur sleep: theyre comin m just busy. 
> 
> if ur worried abt the vamp au/the ghost au here’s the truth: theyre both almost done but i dont have beta readers 2 tell me when things suck so full stories r a struggle 4 my small brain !!
> 
> also:::::: leave things u want me 2 write. nd i will write them. it helps me. <333::


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